


Upper Cut

by palettesofrenaissance



Category: Carrie (2013), Carrie - All Media Types, Carrie - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Happy Ending, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Lesbian Character, My First Work in This Fandom, There is some Carrie/Tommy if you squint, This is one of my favorite films but I always wondered how would a happier ending go about?, What if everything happened like it was supposed to, Work Up For Adoption, ish. Kind of.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palettesofrenaissance/pseuds/palettesofrenaissance
Summary: I always wondered what a different ending would be like, and due to a restless night I wrote this down.Ideas thought about include: In today's time, would everyone have laughed at Carrie at prom or would they have more sympathy? How big of a destruction would have happened as a result? What if Sue had called out and Tommy moved out the way? What about the additional use of technology? How would Sue's teen pregnancy reveal go over with her parents?A sort of "fix-it" with a semi-happy ending because I was curious and I wanted to, plus this year has been scary enough.
Relationships: Rita Desjardin & Carrie White, Susan Snell & Carrie White, Tommy Ross & Carrie White
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Upper Cut

**Author's Note:**

> _This was originally planned to be one thousand words. I do not have an explanation other than that I have always wanted to write something for this!_

It had all been so beautiful; everything had been so _perfect_.

And then it wasn’t. It all came shattering around her feet like a flower frozen in dry ice. It all was intricately, sinisterly planned into—

_~~Bloody Mary~~ Bloody Carrie Bloody Carrie Bloody Carrie_

* * *

Her shoulders shake as she laughs, freely, verily, a tinkle lost in the party ambience, and she reaches up to adjust the straps of her baby pink dress. Twirls a finger around an iron-pressed curl as her anxiety rises—she looks to the clock nailed high on the wall, the time ticking away her seconds of her Cinderella night of being _normal_ , of being semi-free, and she thinks about her mother and the memory of “her closet’s” splintered wood in her skin and air painfully stabbing her lungs as she’s plunged under water for a “baptismal” and the desolate, empty eyes of the wooden figure of a man hanging by nails to his hands, watching her punishments, and she thinks about the prayers and begs of forgiveness she will be made to recite on bruised knees and wounded self-worth if she’s arrives even _a second_ late home—

But then she sees Tommy Ross staring and she likes the way he smiles at her. The _elevated_ weights on her shoulders lift when she is spoken to like a teenager, like she’s just like everyone else. Seated beside her at the table, Erika Gogan shares gossip and a joke which Carrie doesn’t quite understand. Tommy winks at her, smiles, and the stretch of repeated smiling has begun to make her face hurt. She innocently rubs her cheeks. It makes her new friends giggle.

 _Friends_. The thought of it becoming a cemented reality feels fickle and fleeting—she almost doesn’t want to enjoy the night because she knows— _she knows, she knows, she knows_ —that come morning light the next day, her white limousine would have turned back into a pumpkin and her candescently-dressed dance partners back into skittish mice and her Prince Charming back into a stranger. And she would be back confiding her devotion and crumbling faith in a wooden carving of a naked hypothetical male.

But as she watches crowds of classmates dance freely on the “dance floor” to a song whose tempo is far too fast for her, Carrie would rather remain in a time loop of this, enjoying the night forevermore.

And then she’s announced prom queen.

 _She becomes prom queen_.

A freak—credo-encrusted, frumpily presented, isolated freak like herself is given—voted, actually—the reward of being crowned _prom queen_.

She’s a deer in headlights—she doesn’t deserve this, honestly; she’s never _done anything_ to deserve this, truly—but the hard plastic, rhinestone-encrusted crown _does_ look beautiful and sparkles heavenly…

Her date winks once more and grins. “To the Devil with false modesty.”

She can’t help but return his smile. “To the Devil.”

She’s so thrilled by this fairytale that a measly paper cut from the voting card doesn’t faze her. (It’s also minimal because she’s felt worse pain, but that’s a different subject matter for another time.)

But then the clock strikes midnight and just like she predicted, her fairytale evaporates into a bath of raw pig’s blood.

* * *

Everyone finds out.

Everyone finds out the single-most humiliating experience of her short, premature, teenaged life because it’s broadcasted on the wide plasma screens hung beside the stage of the gymnasium.

Carrie looks to her Prince Charming, tears already welling in her eyes from his betrayal—this was all planned, it was, it had to be, of course, _of course_ —

Carrie’s shoulders jump at his bellow. “What the hell!”

Her eyes widen. He hadn’t been expecting it either.

She turns her anguish onto the crowd. Tears have already begun falling, creating dark pink trails down her cheeks.

On screen, the video plays of Carrie crawling backwards across the wet tile shower floor, naked and vulnerably draped in a towel, shrieking for mercy while bawling. Dripping wet, the teenager looks out from the stage with a bouquet of equally blood-soaked white roses in her arms.

The horde of attendants are stunned silent. The bouquet falls.

Carrie’s shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs at the taunts of “Plug it up! Plug it up!” blaring in her ears and rattling inside her skull like a scratched record on highest volume.

Carrie watches her fairytale fall to her feet, and consequently with it, her world as well.

From within the crowd, a girl screams, “Tommy! Watch out! Move!”

“Sue?” He squints and steps towards the stage’s edge on instinct just in time for a heavy bucket to crash to the floor a breath later, slightly shaking the floor.

Carrie looks above to the fly system again in time to catch a glimpse of a fleeting figure.

A few solitary laughs bubble up from the crowd, blending in to those on the recording. Ms. Desjardin rushes up, offering a hand to aid Carrie down the steps, but she’s shoved back to the crowd by an invisible force; witnesses back away and gasp in shock.

Erika and a chaperone who weren’t previously in the line of sight take Desjardin's place and successfully direct a trembling Carrie to the ground floor.

Everyone is overwhelmed over the assault.

Ms. Desjardin, arguably the only one who is close to Carrie, turns her attention to Sue Snell who has snuck into the building and is then forcefully pushing Sue out of the gymnasium, their arguing echoing around the too-quiet building. She is convinced that Sue is a part of the assault.

Enraged, Tommy loudly hashes with a chaperone over the identity of the perpetrator but quickly turns on the DJ allowing the footage to continue playing—an entourage of Chris’, he immediately recognizes. His shout motivates Carrie to turn her attention to the screen. She not only sees herself during that event for the first time, but she also sees that it has been uploaded on _YouTube_.

Her lip trembles. She looks disgusting on screen, miserable, pathetic. The fact that everyone in her school grade, as well as God-knows how many streamed it worldwide—has seen her _like this_ , traumatizes her. And then her body locks up, her mind and vision blacking out. Her pupils dilate. She can _see_ what is happening, what she does, but she has no conscious control, it all an out-of-body experience driven by shock and blind rage.

Ms. Desjardin slams, locks the gymnasium doors. Sue pounds her fists uselessly against the glass from the other side. The video continues to play but no one but the few laughing makes a sound louder than an uncomfortable, disapproving mumble.

The video ends and then replays.

Sue barges out of the building feeling frustrated and defeated. As she’s pacing the building’s length, typing a text to Tommy, she overhears a man’s snickering followed by a falter of shoes against the gravel, a familiar voice balking with disapproval about the lack of chortling from inside, and the start of a car’s engine.

Sue follows the voices of Chris and her boyfriend around to the back of the gym. Her presence is enough for Chris to pause with one foot inside, lock eyes with Sue, a perverse smirk still plastered on her face, but there isn't enough time for Sue to activate her cellphone’s camera and catch a clear photo of the perpetrators or the car’s license plate as proof.

After she finishes taking her emotions out by stomping on the pavement, Sue sends her text to Tommy. As if on cue, groups of students flee the gymnasium. She’s told in a hurry that those who had been manning the DJ’s computer and laughing through the traumatizing video, including one student photographer snapping the screen, had all died by _freak accidents_.

* * *

Carrie doesn’t come to school the next day.

Or the day after.

Ms. Desjardin phones the White residence but the girl’s mother, Margaret, lies and gives cryptic messages about her daughter’s whereabout—something about their “Lord watching over her, currently” and that “she won’t make it back any time soon; she’s being _cleansed_.”

The teacher has gotten to know the girl enough in the last four years of high school for this to raise her readings of red flags immediately, and reports it to her supervisor.

Resting her desk’s drawer is a burner flip phone she lent to Carrie, it returned the day before prom. There’s a note taped to it, written in Carrie’s scrawl that reads “For my third day of absence.”

Desjardin hadn’t known what it meant until today. And after searching through it, she clicks on _Photo Gallery_ and comes across a folder hidden within two folders. The pictures inside are also reported to her supervisor. Even though Desjardin is reprimanded for her lack of judgment in investigating further, her relief of having proof besides the girl's disjointed stories.

* * *

A week following prom, Sue sits between her parents at the dinner table, her opinions and comments long since drowned out by their arguing back and forth. This has been going on for the last three days.

The voices of the news presenters provide background noise behind her parents’; if she leans a little to her right, Sue can see one of the two presenters at the table.

Sue’s father berates that she should “live with her decision” and slaps his hand on a pocket-sized New Jerusalem Bible and hollers the false factuality that independent life begins before birth. Sue’s mother—who started escaping into a bottle of vodka after finding out—decides for her daughter that an abortion is necessary so she cannot become a statistic, so Sue can have the full experience of being a teenager, that it is unrealistic to expect to be on MTV’s _Teen Mom_ , and to not repeat her own mistake.

At this, Sue looks up.

The only thing her parents can agree on is that Sue is now _indefinitely forbidden_ from seeing Tommy Ross again.

One of the news presenters change to “a new developing story” about the mysterious deaths at Ewen High’s prom a few days ago: there was a car crash into a nearby gas station, killing two passengers; Chris Hargensen and her boyfriend, Billy Nolan. There was also the case of several students mysteriously, brutally killed within the aforementioned prom. But even though there was a building full of witnesses, not a finger was lifted to inflict their dramatic deaths. Investigators continue to pull students and staff for questioning but are nearing the conclusion to chuck the murderer to be _karma_.

Sue shivers. Her cellphone in her lap vibrates from an incoming text message. It successfully captures her mother’s attention.

It’s from Tommy, she reads aloud with distain before throwing the device across the room. It shatters upon impact against the wall.

The news story then changes to pre-recorded footage of two policemen escorting a stubborn Margaret White from her home in handcuffs. A clip of surveillance footage from when Carrie was questioned about the prom deaths flashes on screen; the girl is slumped in the cold metal chair, eyes wide and understandably frightened. Even though she was detained longer than most students due to her fearful reactions were misread as suspicion, she was ultimately released and labeled _innocent_ —despite Tommy’s private allegations to her, Sue remembers.

A part of her feels bad for the girl; they hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly become friends and re-start, and now it sounds like Sue’s are ten seconds away from isolating her off to an overseas boarding school.

Two hours later, the Snells' house phone rings. Detectives are wanting to bring Sue in for more questioning.

* * *

In a room calmly decorated room, the young White daughter sits with hunched posture and a shifting gaze. Ms. Desjardin grips her shoulder in encouragement, continuing to converse with the woman dressed in a fitted in a Peruvian brown pantsuit. A bejeweled banana clip shimmers in her hair. A large diamond sits on one finger.

“Mrs. Langley-Hinton is safe to talk to. She’s here to help you,” Desjardin introduces. “She’s a social worker—”

“And also your cousin,” Carrie adds, voice timid and caution.

Desjardin’s brow crooks. “Yes. She’s the one I told you about. She’s also a psychologist.”

Carrie shows no indication she opposes the meeting so Desjardin continues.

“I heard about the incident,” Mrs. Langley-Hinton begins.

She’s interjected by softly spoken sarcasm. “Who hasn’t?”

Mrs. Langley-Hinton clears her throat before. She says that she will keep in touch between sessions and the foster home. Carrie is invited for all of them to get to know each other better over lunch—“all of us: you, Ms. Desjardin, me, and my wife outside.”

“W-wife?” Carrie’s eyes flicker away from her hands for one second. “But laying with someone of the same gender is—it’s blasphemy—”

Mrs. Langley-Hinton nods, grins, but there is a stiffness to her smile that silences the teenager.

“The Bible states wearing mixed-fabric clothing is a sin. As well as eating shellfish, playing with a _pigskin_ , such as playing football, and birth control. And, it prohibits children born out of wedlock from entering a church.”

That final one seems to strike a nerve in Carrie, the girls eyes dart to the floor and begin wildly searching around her shoes.

The woman's gaze rests on Carrie, hardening beneath the surface. Her hands rest on each other. “It states a lot of contradictory _rules_ ; things not able to survive in modern day or which are still necessary versus its ancient origin. _But_ ,” she makes a move to stand, “I can leave your case and tell them that you would rather have _someone else_ be assigned to you.”

Desjardin’s eyes widen, silently pleading that the teenager would decline—after all, she had _personally_ requested her cousin to this case.

And to her relief, Carrie shakes her head, tightens her arms around herself.

“It’s,” she tries, fails at searching for the right word. She settles on one overheard at school. “It’s overrated, anyway.”

Desjardin blinks in surprise.

Mrs. Langley-Hinton resumes. “Are you certain about that?”

Carrie hesitates but eventually nods.

“Well, would you like to start our session with that?” And at the girl’s still stressed posture and bowed chin, she adds, “Your mother isn’t here and she won’t be informed of any of this. Patient confidentiality,” she explains.

It’s like trying to approach a timid animal but the teenager soon gives an answer: she would like to continue.

They start with small talk and introductions about the past. It's emphasized that this is a safe place, and that a solo session would be best for now.

“Has it ever caused you pain? Either mentally or through your mother?”

A thousand and one memories come to mind but all Carrie can convince herself to do is nod. Maybe she can muster words during their next session? But for now, all are glad with accomplishing baby steps.

* * *

One of the pieces of evidence gathered from the prom's murders is a camera belonging to a student a part of Ewen's photography club and student news. The detectives considered it a dead end so it was returned to his survived parents. They made a digital copy of all the media but box it away along with the camera.

It was later gifted to a cousin beginning middle school, the parents unable to continue holding it in their storage as it collects dust. This cousin looks through the camera roll hoping to find some encouragement or photos to imitate, and instead comes across footage of the prom night. It's short and shakily taken nd turns on its side halfway through, and loud, but it hypnotizes the cousin. It shows a girl screaming, an invisible tsunami of air blowing down participants, broken electrical wire whipping students on its own, doors locking, overhead sprinklers turning on, stampede of students, screaming, so much screaming, and then it turns off.

And like many naive children, this cousin thinks _the best_ option is to upload it on the internet.

* * *

It becomes popular with moderate speed.

Carrie is unaware of her growing internet fame, although many believe it is staged, accomplished by digital visual effects.

* * *

It’s now months later.

Some time ago, Chris’ parents held a funeral for their daughter; it has a low turn out of friends, most of her school associates were either the subject of their own funerals or consider their bonds severed after the broadcasted footage.

“Do you feel bad about it?” Tommy asks one afternoon.

Carrie fiddles with the straw of her milkshake. “I...” She inhales, reminds herself that it’s _good_ to speak her mind; exhales. “I was never on good relations with her, so I don’t think I can give an answer.”

He’s sitting back against the booth-seat. They’re across from each other at a cheap diner—a _friendly lunch outing_ , he proposed. But now he’s scrutinizing her.

Fingers twirl his straw around the tall fountain shoppe glass. “That’s not what I was talking about, Care.”

Due to her blacking out that night, she often forgets he had been _right beside her_ and had likely formed suspicions of his own.

“I _saw_ everything,” he reminds, expression hardening. “And don’t lie to me anymore, okay?”

She lightly frowns, brows beginning to furrow—from confidence she’s begun building under Desjardin and Langley-Hinton’s careful encouragement.

“I’m asking because I’m your friend. And friends look out for each other. Friends,” his chest expands with air, “friends _care_ about each other.”

She can’t disagree with him there. She mimics his stirring without purpose.

“Yeah. You’re right.” She bites her lip, not catching his gaze following, narrowing, before rising back to her eyes as she speaks. “Then... Then... Then, no, I don’t feel very bad. I mean, I _do_ , but also I—” She whispers. “I feel so _dirty_ about this. It was _wrong_.” Her head lowers to a propped hand like she’s done many times before.

“You felt revenge,” Tommy reiterates. “I wasn’t ever friends with Chris, but she was bullying you for years. She even bullied many other students, not just you. If it hadn’t been—you know—then it was going to be someone else, or one of her victims becoming her boss and then kicking her out to the streets. It was going to come to her eventually. Plus, she had a _personal vendetta_ out for you for _years_ , so—”

“But Tommy, I _killed_ her!” It’s in a harsh, hurt whisper leaned across the table.

Luckily, her statement does not attract attention.

He reaches across the tan-colored tabletop to squeeze her hands. “And you felt _bad_ about it. You even cried. That shows you’re _not_ a killer.” It's an easing she greatly needs.

“But—”

“ _But_ ,” he continues, “you were pushed too far, snapped for a moment, and things...happened. Like, sometimes you’re chopping wood and you see a raccoon coming up, and it crawls up on the stump you’re chopping on; it doesn’t stop coming and you see it happening, but the next thing you know, you’ve cut the little sucker’s head clean off.”

The edge of her lip curls back in disgust. “This is different than _chopping wood_.”

The waiter decides to materialize then with their lunch orders. He passes out additional napkins and straws. Tommy drowns his ordered coffee with creamer; she’s ordered a simple glass of root beer.

Once the waiter leaves, Carrie asks, “Was that _you!?_ With the chopping wood?”

“No. That was a friend of mine.”

She shivers. “Brutal.”

“I know, right? Now, let’s eat! I’m starving.”

He blows across his cup before offering to pour her a taste in a spare empty glass. She declines.

Three bites into their meals, she asks, “How are you and Sue?”

Tommy visibly slows his chewing, eyes downcast. “We broke up.”

“Oh!” Whenever Carrie texted Sue—the new phone a permanent gift from Mrs. Langley-Hinton—it was never shared. “Sorry. Since when?”

“For, uh, like, two months now.”

“Oh.” Carrie prods her fork around her food. “Well. Um. That—that sucks—that’s terrible. I know she was kinda—nice.”

He nods. Itching to change the subject, Tommy focuses on her intense focus on the experimenting of dipping French fries into her milkshake. “How’re the Mrs. Langely-Hintons?”

Bites the inside of her cheek. “They’re—very nice.” She’s been seeing the second Mrs. Langley-Hinton as her art therapist. “The topic of fostering came up recently.”

His ears perk. “Oh? From a new family?”

Hearing it once was mind boggling alone but repeating it feels unreal, as if she were to speak it, it would eliminate the offer. But her giddying overrides her anxiety and Carrie slowly grins. “The Langley-Hintons asked what I think about them fostering then maybe adopting me into their family.”

It wasn’t what he was expecting but he’s excited for her either way.

“And what do you think about that?”

Carrie’s grin expands full-fledged. “I... I think I’d like that.”

* * *

In a week, Carrie is scheduled to visit her mother, Margaret.

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm so excited about this guys! I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!_
> 
> (The lesbian couple were original characters.)
> 
> _find me on tumblr!_


End file.
